


Spark of Courage

by Stardustjinn



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-31 00:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17838704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stardustjinn/pseuds/Stardustjinn
Summary: TF:Prime, Aligned. Pre Earth. After a surprise Decepticon attack near the Well of AllSparks, Ratchet manages to save a sparkling from near death... or was it the other way around? Origin fic. Rated for mild violence.





	1. There Will Be Another

**Author's Note:**

> My take on how a certain Autobot came to the world. Try to guess who the reckless sparkling is. Actually, that would be too easy but please comment on what you think nonetheless. Title inspired by an epic music called 'Heart of Courage' by Two Steps From Hell. (edited and reposted from ffnet)
> 
> Looking back I'm not too happy with it (esp the opening in ch1), but eeeehhh. Feel free to complain.

"Ratchet? Where are you?" Prime's concerned voice came through the comm.

"I am nearly there," Ratchet replied, driving as fast as possible back to where the transport shuttles were waiting. "ETA ten breems. There was a downed Autobot near the Well, so I..." He faltered.

The Autobot did not stand a chance. All Ratchet could do was to ease the pain so he might pass peacefully.

There was a short pause before Optimus spoke again.

"I see. Do you have back up? Is there someone else with you?"

"No, and I do not require back up."

Optimus sighed at the medic's stubbornness, barely aware of Jazz returning with his own team.

"Ratchet, you know better than to travel on your own."

"For Primus' sake, Optimus. I– WHAT IN THE FRAGGIN' PITS OF—"

Static filled the link.

"Ratchet? Ratchet! Do you read me?"

Optimus tried to contact his Chief Medical Officer but there was no response. "Talk about tempting fate," he muttered.

"Must be the AllSpark's energy spikes interfering again," Jazz said, cool-headed as ever. "I'll get him."

He instructed his team to board one of the ships and turned.

Optimus halted his friend. " Wait, Jazz. I am going with you." He glanced at the red, intimidating Autobot lounging against the ship's hull. "Ironhide? I need you to return to Iacon with the others."

Ironhide had been shot in the leg by one of the Seeker's missiles in the skirmish, though that was not enough to stop him from trashing at least three more Decepticons until Ratchet personally stormed out ahead to drag the wounded Autobot away for repairs. Being left out of action had left the trigger happy bot in quite a sour mood, compounded by the circumstances of the attack.

"What about you?"

"We will take the subroutes back."

"All the way?"

"One of my bots is on standby with a ship," Jazz supplied without missing a beat. "If we need to, we can hitch a ride."

"Alright, I'll take those ships back to Iacon. Have fun out there," Ironhide grumbled as his two comrades rolled out.

———§———

Ratchet pushed his wheels harder, giving up the comm as soon as it cut out and focusing on escaping the _thing_ chasing behind. _Fragging Underworlders!_ he cursed.

As the war escalated, an unusual number of creatures from the Underworld started to surface, particularly around the Well of AllSpark. Some said it was a way for the planet to protect the Well, whose activity continued to decrease. Others said it was Primus expressing displeasure. Ratchet did not care much for either theories. What really had his gears grinding was that these creatures did not discriminate in their targets, and newly sparked Cybertronians climbing out of the Well made nice, easy prey.

A cease-fire was called within two hundred klick radius of the Well, and Megatron had enough sense to put up a front to be honoring it. That is, until he became aware of just how many younglings were pledging themselves firmly to the Autobot cause.

 _Trust a 'con to be stupid enough to attack an active Well,_ Ratchet grumbled to himself as he watched the Underworlder at his tailpipe. It drew closer and closer, then it leaped high, baring its long, dirty claws. Ratchet braked and pulled to his left, letting the creature sail past above him. He transformed and shifted his hands to a pair of blades. Well, one mindless beast shouldn't be too hard.

The Underworlder skidded to a stop and spun around, snapping its maws and snarling. Ratchet waited for the right moment, activating his battle protocols. The creature lunged, swiping with its claws. Ratchet evaded the attack and stabbed its abdomen in return. It howled in pain and swiped again, this time successfully. Ratchet backed quickly, but the claws had managed to tear out a good portion of his chest armor. Cursing himself for not having the foresight to bring any ranged weapons, he moved further away. The creature circled him, before charging once more. Ratchet side-stepped at the last moment and struck out his knife with a medic's precision. The blade dented and chipped off, but thankfully was able to slice away half of the creature's head. It scattered away, leaving the rest of the frame to drop uselessly on the ground.

Venting hard, Ratchet sheathed his weapon and turned towards Iacon, only to come face-to-face with a barrel of a blaster.

"Thank you for taking care of my trouble for me, Autobot," the Decepticon behind it said. "But I cannot allow you to have one of _my_ findings."

Ratchet glared at the con, running short of patience fast. The Decepticon was relatively small. One of their scouts? That would make sense, since Tyger Pax was still firmly in the Autobot's grasp. Ratchet's trained optics also noticed that the con was slightly leaning to the left, indicating a minor injury on the right pede. Not that it helped much. Damaged or not, with a gun held in point-blank range to his head, there was not much the medic could do.

" _Your_ findings?" he repeated, hoping to stall enough for that back-up that Optimus was talking about to arrive.

The dark-painted faceplates twisted into an amused smile.

"So you don't know?" he said softly. "No matter. It does–"

_Ting_

They both looked down. Just next to the Decepticon's damaged pede, a natural silver lifeform smaller than even a minicon stood by, examining the giant appendage in front of him with great interest. Feeling their attention, he looked up. There was a mixture of curiosity and defiance in the tiny face.

 _A new-spark,_ Ratchet realized. Even for a new-spark he was smaller than average. A quick once over informed that the sparkling was barely an orn old. Cybertronians were sparked with the program to stand and walk on two pedes so Ratchet was not surprised to see him standing, but the Well of AllSparks was quite some distance away. Either someone had transported the sparkling and left him, or the tiny thing had come all the way up here on his own. Given his battered state, the second explanation was more likely, though how someone so small could have gone that distance bi-pedaled was a mystery.

He was about to yell at the little one to run away when the tiny thing kicked the Decepticon's pede once more.

_Ting_

It did not even leave a scratch.

"Hey, back off!" the Decepticon snarled, shaking his pede threateningly. It caught the sparkling and he toppled, the momentum causing him to tumble backwards several times.

A low snarl escaped Ratchet's chassis as his core programming protested against the abuse. A knife slid out to replace Ratchet's right fist but the 'con was quick to return his attention to the bigger threat. The sparkling pushed himself back to his pedes, unfazed, and stared up at the two titans before him with a rather frustrated look.

"Whatcha looking at, huh? I said back off!" the Decepticon growled, shifting his gaze between the Autobot and the tiny new-spark.

Paying no attention to the threats, the sparkling instead stared at the thing he had kicked. He slowly retreated a few steps and looked back up, cocking his head to a side and clicking curiously. Then he did something neither bots could anticipate.

A new-spark, no older than few cycles and without any proper armor whatsoever, ran up to one of the adult Cybertronian towering over him and kicked with all his strength for the third time.

It was such a bold and reckless move that Ratchet's CPU nearly froze up before he could diagnose an evident glitch in the sparkling's basic survival protocols. There had to be a glitch, because no new-spark with a functioning survival protocol would dare try to attack the first adult Cybertronian he saw. By some divine intervention from Primus, the tiny assaulter had managed to strike some loose wires and metal structures exposed in the 'con's wound.

_Crack_

"YYAAAAAARGH!"

The Decepticon howled, dropping his gun and clutching the offended limb. Ratchet did not miss his chance. He shoved the con away from the sparkling, who scrambled out of the way clicking rapidly in alarm to not get crushed underfoot. Then the medic kneed his opponent's chest and landed a much harder kick on the faceplate. The Decepticon reeled back but managed to recover fast, spitting out some energon and drawing another gun from subspace. Ratchet planted himself between the con and the sparkling, bracing himself for the blow. Before the Decepticon could fire, however, the weapon was shot out of his hand.

"What the–"

He dove aside to avoid the hail of plasma blasts sent his way by none other than Optimus Prime. One of the shots found its mark on his arm-mounted missile and the Decepticon spat out a curse. Sensing defeat, he transformed to retreat, only to be pounced by Jazz who had driven straight up ahead.

"Ratchet, are you alright?" Optimus asked urgently, leaving Jazz to finish off the enemy.

"Yes, I'm fine."

Ratchet turned to the tiny lifeform who had, in a way, saved his life. The sparkling had placed himself well away from the fight, balancing on top of a heap of twisted scrap metal. He watched with wide optics as Jazz overpowered the Decepticon, chirring softly in awe. Then he noticed the other two bots' gaze and tensed at once, taking a step back warily. His pede now sported an impressive dent, likely the result from those three kicks he gave that unfortunate scout.

"Is that a new-spark?" Jazz wondered, having finished the job and sprinting back to join them. "What's _he_ doing up here?"

"Something I would ask him, if only he could speak," Ratchet replied.

The sparkling clicked as if to agree with him.

"It appears our troops had missed one coming out of the Well. With all the sudden attacks, I cannot say I blame them," Optimus mused. His gaze fell out of focus as he tapped his comm, no doubt alerting the remaining Autobots stationed nearby to keep an optic out for any other stray new born Cybertronians.

The sparkling in question made an enquiring sound. Jazz knelt down to match optic-level, the corner of his mouthplates curling up into an easy smile.

"What are you doing here, little one?" he asked. "This is no place for a youngling like you to be alone."

The sparkling clicked and whirled in a rapid but jovial fashion, trying to explain himself. Pointing first at the Underworlder's off-lined frame and then at the Decepticon's, he waved his arms in a flailing motion enthusiastically. The sounds that were being emitted had little meaning, but Ratchet remembered his earlier exchange with the Decepticon scout. If he put the evidences together, the likely explanation was that the sparkling had been chased all the way up here either by the Underworlder or the 'con, or, Primus forbid, _both_. Judging by their expressions, Optimus and Jazz had apparently come to similar conclusions at the sparkling's valiant efforts to be understood.

Resisting the urge to thoroughly desecrate the frame behind them, Ratchet instead carefully approached the sparkling. The latter abruptly stopped his antics and stepped back, optics darting back and forth between the big bots. Even Ratchet's soothing chirr that came from medic programming did little to ease the tension rolling off the small frame. The sparkling's damaged pede caught mid-air, causing him to fall off the rubble and land hard on the ground, rolling backwards. A surprised yelp escaped Ratchet's vocal mechanisms but the sparkling was quick to recover his footing. His fists curled into tiny balls and his expression was frightened but defiant, as if daring the adult bots to come any closer, the small silver frame as tense as a cornered turbofox. His posture was low and half-way turned, ready to take off running at any astrosecond. He emitted a series of uneasy whines, forcing Ratchet to stop his advance.

Jazz chuckled without humor. "Got some spunk, don't ya?" he said with a sad smile.

Sighing, Ratchet gave the little bot a once over. Even apart from the huge dent on his pede, the little bot had scratches and dents all over his protoform armor with clear signs of an energon leak somewhere on his side. Though his expression remained bold, there was an unmistakable hint of exhaustion in his dim, flickering optics.

_Primus, how much has this one's been through already?_

Instead of approaching, Ratchet scanned.

 _10 - 15 cycles,_ the scanners read.  
_Energy level : 17%_  
_Energon level : 8%_  
_No internal damage detected._  
_Further scanning required._

 _I need to install myself a better damn scanner,_ Ratchet thought as he read the results. No internal damage was fine. 8 percent energon level was definitely not. There could be a permanent damage to the sparkling's circuits unless he was refueled and recharged quickly. When Ratchet lowered his scanners, the sparkling was on the defense again. He watched the bigger bots warily, unaware of the real danger sneaking up behind him.

"Gotcha," Jazz vented, scooping up the silver frame by the scruff.

The saboteur screwed his faceplate as a sharp metallic screech hit his sensitive audios.

"Easy there, little one," he tried to soothe the flailing sparkling. "No one's gonna hurt you." He pulled the silver bundle close to his spark chamber, rubbing the small helm gently.

The sparkling stopped fighting and curled up into a ball against the warm silver chassis. He was clearly too spent to fight any more, but that did not stop him from keep emitting a soft whine.

Ratchet wasted no time in pulling out a syringe and a cube filled with concentrated energon from his med kit, and using the syringe to give the sparkling much needed fuel.

 _Please not another one_ , he prayed silently. _Not one so young._

The war had not been kind to the weak. When the Well became active again, Ratchet was not sure if he should be glad for extra potential warriors or angry about more bots deactivating so early in their lives.

Thankfully, the readings on the sparkling improved rapidly. As soon as the cube was emptied, he completely offlined his optics and fell into recharge.

"Will he be alright?" Jazz asked.

"He's just in recharge for now," Ratchet said. "He should be fine after some repairs."

Optimus glanced at the medic. "You look like you need repairs yourself, my friend. Can you drive?"

Ratchet threw a look at Prime and abruptly transformed as way of reply.

"Get him in," he barked, opening a hatch leading to a compartment inside his vehicle mode.

Grinning at the familiar tone, Jazz carefully placed the sparkling inside before flipping into alt-form himself.

"Back to Iacon. Stay in the middle, Ratchet," Optimus rumbled in vehicle mode and took lead in front of Ratchet as Jazz covered the rear.

"So... You gonna tell us what happened anytime, Ratch?" the saboteur prodded.

———§———

"...and that's when you showed up." Ratchet finished as they passed Kalis borders and entered Iacon sub-routes. Red lights flickered to blue as the hidden scanners registered their Autobot signatures, allowing them safe passage straight to the capitol.

Jazz was laughing so hard he was practically bouncing on his wheels in a way Ratchet didn't even want to know how he was doing it.

"Primus almighty," he managed between fits of laughter. "The sparklet tried to kick him... what, three times?"

"You can take out the 'tried to'. Primus only knows how he hit where it mattered at the third."

Jazz's vehicle form zigzagged as he chortled. Ratchet shifted his rear view to keep watch in case the other bot accidentally ran into the walls of the narrow sub-route. Not that he was going to help the saboteur if the latter hurt himself due to his own inattentiveness. No, the medic was only keeping an optic so as not to miss the entertainment it would provide when such event occurred. If Jazz managed to crash into a wall or something, he was definitely _not_ going to get help popping out the dents from the ambulance in front of him.

To Ratchet's inexplicable relief, Jazz soon gained his composure, though he still had trouble driving in a straight line.

"It sounds as if we reached there in time," Optimus said. "I have seen that Decepticon in the field. He is not one to be easily defeated and you were already injured by the Underworlder."

"I had it under control."

Optimus knew better than to argue further and let it pass. After passing one last security alarm the route sloped up and soon the three Autobots were behind the formidable Iacon walls.

"I'm heading straight to the Medical Center," Ratchet announced once they reached their headquarters.

"Of course. We will see you tomorrow at the debrief."

Ratchet tore away from the line, leaving the other two to go to the command center while he entered a tall, white building that housed all the injured. Rescue jets and helicopters moved in and out, bringing back other wounded Autobots and occasionally some Neutrals who had found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ratchet drove into his own medical bay and slowly braked, not wanting to startle the life form inside him. As he pulled to a stop, another medic greeted him.

"Ratchet! We were so worried when you didn't come back with the others!"

"I am perfectly fine, Melody."

Ratchet paused, wondering if it was possible for him to transform without waking the sparkling. He decided not to take the risk and opened his hatch.

"Melody, can you get this little one out?" he asked.

Melody's optics widened as she looked inside.

"Is this–?"

"One of the new-sparks, yes," Ratchet replied, a little irritated. "Can you get him out without waking him?"

Melody carefully reached in, but the slightest touch was enough to pull the sparkling out of recharge. He woke with a startled click and looked around frantically. Seeing a pair of big hands trying to grab him, the sparkling panicked and tried to bury himself further inside the compartment. Melody drew back her hands as the little one started kicking at her direction while making distressed sounds.

"Uh, oh, I don't think it's wise for me to get him out," the femme medic said.

"So it would seem," Ratchet sighed.

He transformed back, slowly and deliberately so the still-frightened sparkling would not be thrown out of him but instead end up in his arms. The abrupt change of surroundings did nothing to comfort the little one and it took some time for him to calm down. Melody made a sympathetic clicking noise.

"Both of you could use some repairs and rest," she said softly. "I can look after him while you get fixed yourself."

But Ratchet just shook his head and seated the sparkling on a berth. The little bot was looking much better than he was at Tyger Pax as he took in the new environment with awe, all previous distress forgotten. A medical drone floated above them to assist Ratchet and the sparkling tried to get up for a better look. Ratchet pressed him firmly down, picking up a more delicate sensor.

"No, sit down," he muttered, both amazed and exasperated at how swiftly these young processors could be diverted. "You can explore around as much as you'd like _after_ the repairs."

The sparkling obeyed, less because Ratchet was holding him down with a scary look and more because the new device on the medic's hand had caught his attention. His optics tried to follow as the scanning beam roved up and down his frame.

Ratchet checked the readings and frowned. The scan had detected a particularly nasty wound on the right elbow. There were signs of energon leaks and the marks around it suggested that the sparkling fell and slid some distance on his side. There were also more scratches and dents than Ratchet had initially assumed. Wondering what the pit this one had been doing before being discovered, Ratchet started working on the elbow.

"That's enough scratch to warrant a premature upgrade," Melody said absently, peering at the results.

Ratchet scowled. "I can fix him."

Premature upgrades were never good to a bot's psyche, and adult frame meant joining battles, whichever side they chose. Ratchet was in no rush to introduce a young spark to the horrors of the war, not when it was apparent that the poor thing had already seen too much.

"You are one lucky spark, kid," Melody said, handing a laser scalpel to her colleague. "To have one of the best medics in Cybertron for your first-ever repair." She threw a sly look at said medic.

Ratchet grumbled something incoherent but continued nevertheless. He was soon interrupted again when the sparkling, who had grown bored of watching Ratchet, tried to get up to explore again.

"Oh for the love of–! Stay _still!"_ He hissed as the sparkling protested with a loud whine.

"So this is why you were late," a gruff voice spoke from behind.

"Ironhide," Ratchet greeted without looking. "How is your leg?"

"I can walk," Ironhide replied, leaning against the door. "Jazz says you got your tailpipe saved by a new-spark." The smirk was all but plastered in his voice.

Ratchet resisted the urge to throw the laser scalpel to the big mech. He would have, had he not needed it at the moment. Melody straightened herself at once.

"What?" she asked, looking from Ironhide to Ratchet and back with interest. Ironhide merely shrugged, clearly gesturing to ask the bot himself, the fragger.

"Ratchet? What was that?" Melody crossed her arms with a slight smile.

Thankfully for Ratchet, his little patient chose that moment to draw everyone's attention by pointing at the desk with a questioning look and a click. Ratchet stole a glance at his desk, unable to imagine what could possibly have caught the sparkling's attention this time. Melody was better at guessing. She pulled the nameplate that had " **Autobot Chief Medical Officer RATCHET** " written closer to the sparkling.

"Ratchet, that's his name," she said, indicating the medic who had just finished repairing his elbow. The sparkling cocked his head and tried to follow.

"Aa-teh?"

Melody smiled and shook her head gently. "Ratchet," she repeated.

"Hatceh!"

The sparkling spread his arms wide as he chirped, causing Ratchet to nearly drop the scalpel. The medic's curses were drowned by the collective laughter from Melody and Ironhide. Their laugh only served to further encourage the sparkling.

"Hashet, Hatchet! _Hatchet!_ "

"Sounds about right," Ironhide chuckled.

This time, Ratchet did throw the scalpel.

———§———

Half a cycle later, Ratchet was in the process of reattaching the outer shell of the sparkling's pede and Melody was still not done pestering.

"You're really not going to tell me what happened, are you? I _will_ find out eventually, Ratchet!"

The other medic paused his work, listening intently on the comms as he searched for any excuse to send Melody away. A smirk appeared on his mouthplates as he found one.

"There seems to have been an accident near Perceptor's lab, Melody," he said. "Why don't you head down there and see if you can lend a hand?"

Melody looked as if she could not believe her audio receptors. Then, getting a call herself, she snapped into attention and threw a dirty look at Ratchet.

"Aw, I _will_ find out what happened sooner or later, Ratch! See you, 'Hide!" She transformed and raced out.

Ironhide grinned, limping closer towards the berth. The sparkling made a series of clicking noise as he looked up at the giant red mech curiously, tilting his head left and right for easier view. Ratchet shook his.

"Femmes," he muttered.

Having finished with the pede as well, he started to tend to some of the worst scratches his young patient had earned himself.

Ironhide asked. "You thought of his designation?"

Ratchet's hand paused as he processed the question. At the beginning of the war, many Cybertronians who were formerly nameless took a designation of their choice. Neither Autobots nor Decepticons raised a problem with it. Both factions' leaders did, after all, had bigger problems than that and they were both supposedly fighting for freedom of choice. The real problem arose when the Well started producing new Cybertronians.

Since new-sparks were generally unable to find a designation on their own, there was confusion as to who should take the responsibility for the task as well as the right policy. Naming a bot was not something to be taken lightly, as it could well determine the individual's fate. However, there was also no denying the harsh circumstances. They _were_ in the middle of a war after all, possibly one of the worst in history.

"That would be a task for his basic training instructor," Ratchet finally replied.

Ironhide snorted. "There's only one instructor left in Iacon and he comes up with the worst names I've ever heard," he said.

"Do you think he would be allowed to stay in Iacon?"

"We can't very well send him back to the Well, can we? Praxus Youth Center is currently full and Jazz doesn't trust any other Neutral city states."

"Optimus is calling a meeting about the attack, isn't he?"

The red warrior nodded. "Yes, that and what to do with these younglings. But only after everything is settled down. There's a mass panic about all the lost sparklings near the Well."

Ratchet revved darkly at the thought of more sparklings like the one in front of him being lost in the middle of nowhere. Finally done with the repairs, he straightened up and took one last scan in case he missed anything. The patient was now staring at his own hands, flexing them and shifting the panels on his forearms around.

"There you go, little one," the tired medic said. "Let's get you down to where your friends are."

Ironhide intervened.

"I will do that," he rumbled. "You get repaired and some rest yourself."

There was a chirp, and before either of them could react, the sparkling leaped down from the berth without hesitation and landed on all fours.

"By the AllSpark!" Ratchet exclaimed, bending down. "If I have to repair you again so soon–"

But the sparkling quickly stood up, completely unfazed by the fall he just took. He sprinted away from the medic's hands with a series of delighted clicks and whirls.

Ratchet half-groaned, half-sighed and slumped to his chair, trying to ignore the rumbling laughter from Ironhide.


	2. Only Ones Innocent

The last three orns had past with a blur inside Iacon Autobot Headquarters. A surprise attack on any outpost was enough to put the entire base on high alert, and the sudden addition of several younglings did not help with the situation in the very least. Even with the help of Perceptor's Science Division and the Maintenance bots, the Medical staff barely had time to pop out their own dents. Red Alert the Security Director had been pulling triple shifts on his monitors, despite the many threats and coaxes from his friend Inferno. His overtaxed processor finally glitched and collapsed at the end of the third shift, much to Ratchet's extreme (and vocal) displeasure.

Optimus shook his head lightly to fend off the exhaustion as he waited for the last of the commanders to enter the meeting room. He had postponed the post-battle debrief for another orn in order to give everyone some time to rest and recover their bearings, but one look around the table confirmed that no one had been able to do so.

The debrief itself was subdued. Foam, the femme medic who joined in for her specialty in youngling care, nearly had a breakdown while reporting that only 20 out of 97 registered younglings in the Center by the Well have been confirmed to be safe and online. There were too many deactivated small frames to count, but the estimation went at least somewhere around 50.

The grim news did not end there, however. Many medics and guards from other Neutral territories had also been killed whilst defending the younglings hiding inside. There were multiple reports that a group of bots had broken in during the attack, taking away some of the oldest looking younglings. Anyone who tried to stop them was deactivated in a violent manner. The intruders wore no faction identification, but it did not take Teletrann-1 to deduce that their attack was related to the Seeker bombings on Tyger Pax that occurred shortly before. Had the Autobots arrived a couple cycles late, there might not have been anyone left to save.

The motivation for the attack was, as Jazz stated, obvious– Megatron wanted fresh minds who would be only devoted to his own cause. It was no secret that the Decepticon leader did not like how the majority of newly sparked Cybertronians were drawn to the Autobot cause without so much as an afterthought. None of Shockwave's propaganda seemed to be able to waver their decisions. To borrow Jazz's expression, Megatron intended to "train them as killing machines before they could tell apart their energon from their lubricant."

These reports were met with various voices of outrage from the assembled commanders. Some went so far as to suggest retaliation, an idea that was immediately shot down by Prime.

"Revenge will achieve nothing," he said in a firm voice. "We must not allow our emotions to get the better of us. For now, we need to focus on the six young Cybertronians we have in Iacon."

"As well as the two unregistered new-sparks Ratchet and I have found respectively," Elita One added.

"What are their conditions?" Ratchet asked, looking at Foam.

The sparkling he had found two orns ago had put up an unholy amount of fuss upon realising that Ratchet was not going to stay with him. It took two magnetic devices, a broken plasma shield and a depressurized lob ball to distract him long enough for Ratchet to beat a hasty retreat to his office.

Foam sighed. "About those we recovered? One is still critical, all are traumatized. Half of them won't stop clinging to us medics while the other half won't let us even touch them. The conditions are worse in other places like Praxus. They are all frightened and distrustful after seeing big bots attack each other and end up harming their own peers."

The femme medic did not quite catch what passed through Ratchet's vocalizer, which was a good thing since her soft spark may not have been able to take such profanities.

"They trusted us to protect them... and we failed," she finished, dropping her head.

For a moment nobody knew what to say.

"One is still in critical condition?" Elita echoed.

Foam's voice was even more muted than usual. "He was caught under a fallen support beam inside the Youth Center. His lower protoform struts are completely unsalvageable. We are preparing for an early frame upgrade once his life signals stabilize."

"Damn," Blaster murmured.

"Still, there are also some good signs," Foam continued, forcing herself to sit up straight. "Five of them have formed a kind of gestalt bond among themselves to cope with the situation. It seems to be working. We may or may not have a combiner on our hands. The two new-sparks also seem to be doing relatively well all things considered. In fact,"—she dared a wry smile towards Ratchet—"I'd say the one _you_ found is the least traumatized, Ratchet. He was happily playing with an electromagnet when I last checked."

Ratchet muttered something about forgetting to check someone's survival protocols. Jazz's visor lit up in amusement as he remembered the cheery sparkling they rescued two orns ago.

"Oh, we've _definitely_ gotta keep that one," he chuckled. "What did you call him?"

Foam smiled faintly. "Bumblebee."

"Sounds like some organic species," Ironhide commented.

The pastel brown medic tilted one shoulder. "I forgot who first came up with it and I am not sure what it means either, but the designation seems to suit him just fine."

Optimus cleared his vents to redirect the conversation. "Back to the topic at hand," he said, expertly disguising his own interest. He would ask Foam later in person when he gets the time. "Blaster, have you contacted any Neutral city-states?"

"Praxus, Nova Cronum and Crystal City," the Communications Officer replied at once. "That's how we know 'bout the fourteen other younglings' whereabouts. Stanix and Protihex are yet to contact us. Rewind is on it, but he says it's a little strange. We couldn't get a fix on either of their Grid. It was as if they were blocking our transmissions."

"Why would they block our transmissions?" Red Alert asked anxiously.

Blaster's answer was cautious. "Stanix could be having another Grid malfunction due to the bombing just before the war, but I'm not sure about Protihex."

"I highly doubt it's just about some stupid Grid malfunction," Jazz said, his visor darkening. Some of the other bots looked startled at the sudden shift in his mood. He revved quietly before turning to Optimus. "We've been detecting some unusual activities between the 'cons and Stanix representatives. I couldn't bring it up until we get some real evidence, but it looks like we are too late."

"Are you saying that Stanix is now with the 'cons?" Red Alert demanded, already making plans for numerous altercations in his security network. Perceptor, who was sitting next to him, shot a wary look at the sparks that fizzled on the Security Director's sensory horns and discreetly leaned away.

Jazz waved an impatient hand. "Officially, they're still Neutral," he said. "But that city-state always had far too many 'con sympathizers to stay like that for much longer. It's only a matter of time before the entire population starts sporting that ugly purple faceplate."

The possibility of losing Stanix to the Decepticons was not good news for the Autobots. The city-state held one of the major Communication Grid nodes, meaning whoever took control of it could use the node to spread their propaganda throughout the planet. The Autobots had the Hall of Records, and had been enjoying its full advantage on their end. However, the opposing faction had quickly gained support of Polyhex, which held another node. If Stanix defected to the Decepticons as well, it would be that much harder to control the traffic. The fact that the Decepticons had no qualms on being more _creative_ with their propagandas did not help with the situation either.

"We've finally got Praxus to so much as look at us," Blaster said, "and the Decepticons had to go and get themselves another node. There's no telling what kind of ludicrous tales Shockwave might come up with now. If there's a way to hijack the entire Grid through the Hall—"

As if on cue, the door opened to admit the ancient but regal form of Alpha Trion, causing Blaster to clamp his mouthplates shut with a sheepish look. Optimus stood up at once, his spark sinking. The Archivist never interrupted military meetings unless it was urgent.

"Alpha Trion! To what do we owe this honour?"

"Sit down, Optimus," Alpha Trion said, nodding to the others to do the same. "I am merely here to inform that there is someone who wishes to speak to you."

He handed his former student a datapad with the requested frequency before taking up a spare seat next to Blaster, who shifted uncomfortably. Recognizing the frequency at once, Optimus' optics narrowed into angry slits—a sign which Jazz read all too well.

"Need some privacy?" he drawled, leaning back on his seat with a faint smirk.

Prime shook his head, blissfully oblivious to what his friend may be suggesting. "No, stay. This should be interesting."

Optimus switched on the Communication Grid and set it so only he would be seen on the other side of the connection. The screen in the front of the room flickered to life and recalibrated to match the frequency. A massive grey mech with sharp jagged armour showed up, inciting furious shouts and snarls from other Autobot commanders. Optimus silenced them with a stern look before turning to greet the enemy faction's leader.

"Megatron."

"Optimus," the Decepticon responded with a sinister smile that did not quite reach his optics. "It has been a while."

"Indeed, it has," Optimus said, eyeing his correspondence. Megatron looked far too pleased with himself, lending support to some of their suspicions that had been thrown around the room.

Not wanting to draw this out any longer than he had to, he cut out all mock pleasantries and dove straight to business. "The last time we spoke in a civil manner, I remember us agreeing to a certain treaty concerning the future of our race."

Megatron's expression did not waver at all when he answered, "Oh, yes, we did. I remember that too. No military activities from both factions within two hundred klick radius of the Well, correct?"

Fury flared up in Optimus' spark as he was temporarily at a loss for words at the sheer audacity of the statement. So, the warlord was fully aware of the pact and the reasons for it, yet he still called an attack that broke said pact and had the bearings to contact them to gloat about it?

"Yes, that was _exactly_ our agreement," he said, struggling to keep his voice level. "It had been set a mere two vorns ago, until your Seekers shattered it to pieces."

"Now, now. Let us not jump into conclusions, shall we? I had no control on Starscream's actions, but it would seem that he merely wanted to warn you not to take our pact so lightly. You see, it was our impression that you have been spying on us, which, I believe falls under the category of 'military activities'."

Everyone turned to look at the Head of Special Operations and Intelligence, who had grown rigid. All previous traces of humour gone, he let his chair down with a crash and clenched his fists defensively.

"None of my mechs did such thing," Jazz snarled.

Optimus looked back at the screen, willing to give his Second-in-Command the benefit of a doubt. After all, this would not be the first time Megatron had tried to discredit his closest friend. "Do you have any proof for such accusation?"

"Even if I show you proof, all you need do is deny, is it not?" Megatron replied in a casual tone. "What I will say is this; Soundwave's surveillance caught one of your bots overstepping Autobot boundaries. That mech was, of course, immediately neutralized on sight, which I am sure your Intelligence Officer could attest to. In the future, I advise you not to underestimate our abilities, particularly our spymaster's. There is very little that Soundwave misses."

Optimus stole a glance at Jazz, who was glowering at the screen with no small amount of hatred. He did vaguely recall hearing that one of the Special Operations agents had been brutally attacked during patrol. At the time they were unsure if it was just another Underworlder or something else, so Jazz had promised a full report on the incident as soon as they get to the bottom of it. Apparently that was no longer necessary now.

Before Optimus could respond, Jazz spoke up loudly enough so his voice was conveyed through the connection.

"I will take that advice to the spark," he said, "and thank you for only neutralizing my bot as a lesson, not deactivating him. Apparently you 'cons aren't all sparkless drones as I first thought. I will be sure to make a _thorough_ investigation about his actions, as well as the reasons behind."

The smirk in Megatron's faceplate faltered at the news that his assassins had failed to completely terminate the supposed spy. Whatever secret that bot saw will live on to become useful information for the Autobots. Jazz relaxed marginally at the tyrant's expression, now certain that there was something significant about the intel. After half a breem of visible internal struggling, Megatron finally turned his attention back to Optimus.

"It would do well for you to remember that Cybertronians are no longer as blind as they were towards your predecessor, Optimus Prime," Megatron said. "The authorities in Stanix and Protihex are deeply disappointed that you have discarded our trust and jeopardized our future for the sake of gaining petty intel. Ratbat from the High Council has also expressed disappointment, saying that Halogen must have been mistaken that orn at the High Council Tower."

It was clear to everyone present that the former gladiator was now trying to exploit Optimus' insecurity about his new position. It would have affected the young Prime much worse in the beginning of the war and as a result affect the outcomes of each battle. However, Optimus had grown older and wiser since then. Every orn, every battle was a harsh lesson, reminding what kind of responsibility he now had.

He had also been spending more time in Jazz's company than before, whose wisecracking personality tended to rub off on other bots he worked with.

"I concur that he made a mistake," Optimus replied evenly, "a mistake of not keeping a force field set up and a body guard to defend him in time. Who knew that the mighty gladiator from Kaon would resort to surprise attacks to murder the most respective member of the High Council?"

Some of those in the room bit back harsh laughs. Megatron's optics turned several shades darker at the thinly veiled insult. Feeling strangely satisfied, Optimus continued on without giving the 'con on the other side any chance to retort. He reached for the control pad, ready to terminate the transmission.

"Do take good care of the young ones you saw fit to take with you," he said. "No point in denying that—we have more than a few witnesses. As you said for yourself, Cybertronians are no longer as blind as they once may have been. Should it be known that the Decepticons have been abusing the very future of our race, you will have more than just the Autobots to answer to."

"Oh, they are all sent to other Neutral city-states," Megatron replied with his smirk back in place, though Optimus could not help but notice it was a little more forced. "Where they will be free of your taint. We too, know that you have at least three hidden in Iacon yourself. Do make sure to send them to the designated Neutral city-states as we promised to do so two vorns ago. That part of the treaty still stands. I assure you, we have ways of knowing if it is done or not."

Optimus' hand hovered above the control panel. _Three._ They did not know the exact number. Unless Megatron was feigning ignorance, that could mean that none of the Neutral city-states that Blaster contacted trusted the Decepticons enough to compromise that piece of information. He chose his words carefully.

"We will contact them once the sparklings are stable enough to be transported. They will be sent to Youth Centers that are not already full." _Such as Crystal City._

"Protihex can still take in a few more, I hear."

"Protihex can go suck its exhaust pipe," Jazz muttered, gaining murmurs of assent from a couple others.

"I will... consider it," Optimus replied. Without further ado, he cut off the line.

Several roars of bottled-up outrage burst out from multiple directions. Foam was a blubbering mess of relief that there were at least a few more young Cybertronians who survived the skirmish. Knowing that his officers would calm down once he start speaking, Optimus made no attempt to quiet them but looked at the only bot who kept his usual laid-back facade.

"Jazz," he started carefully. As he expected, the room quieted at once. Jazz, of course, knew what was coming.

"I did not send any bots to _spy_ out there," he said in a cool, detached voice. "You would know about it if I did. My division is busy enough as it is without adding useless missions like spying some tiny passive 'con outpost by the Well. Burst was just sent out there for the protection of our own, and to keep an optic out just in case the 'cons tried something stupid." His gaze shot towards Foam. "You requested it."

The femme dropped her gaze. "I, I know I did. One of the Neutral medics hinted at me to be on alert and we didn't have many bots who can fight so... I didn't know that would cause him to..." She faltered, remembering that orn.

The bot had returned absolutely slagged to pit. Everyone was sure he was already deactivated and thought they were bringing in his lifeless husk until the scanners detected a faint spark signature. The junior medics who brought him back to Iacon had all been given an audioful from their CMO for giving up hope so quickly.

Jazz dragged in a deep breath to calm himself, crossing his arms. "He's still alive and kicking, so don't worry about him. At least now we know who did that to him. From what we've found so far, he was investigating something just beyond our borders when someone attacked from behind."

"So it was the 'cons who struck first then?" Ultra Magnus asked.

The Head of Spec Ops pursed his mouthplates, thinking how best to answer the question. In a way, Burst did end up spying something he was not supposed to. However, Jazz felt the need to defend the mech from further reprimand, because that was essentially how they realised something was going on between Stanix and the Decepticons. In any case, not every commander needed to know all the glory details of what was going on in that grey area of Special Operations. Missions including but not limited to spying, sabotaging and sometimes even assassinations did not always go well with general Autobot rules.

In the end the saboteur just said, "It's neither here nor there." Noticing that Magnus was not at all satisfied, he elaborated. "I admit Burst shouldn't have crossed our boundaries, no matter why he did it. But then the 'cons shouldn't have been able to attack him like that when he was nowhere near _their_ outpost, and the Neutral soldiers guarding the area should have been better at their jobs. In case you forgot, there was not supposed to be any unsupervised contact between all three parties in that area. If Burst wasn't given a reason to go over, or if it were the Neutrals who found him overstepping first, none of this mess would have happened." He paused, then amended himself. "Well, the attack would have happened eventually but then at least Buckethead wouldn't have been able to use our activities as an excuse."

"In short, we are _all_ at fault, except for those younglings who got caught in the crossfire," Ratchet concluded.

"That does not justify the Seeker attack," Elita One said passionately. "They thought they had killed the spy. After that, they could have just given us a warning, one that does not include massacring everyone by the Well."

"As Jazz pointed out, Burst was likely just an excuse," Optimus said. "With nearly 70 percent of this latest generation committing itself to our cause, it was only a matter of time until something of this nature happened."

"Still, we should not have given them _any_ excuse in the first place," Ultra Magnus argued, staring pointedly at Jazz. The saboteur's mouthplates formed a thin line as he bit back a sharp retort at what the former Elite Guard was implying.

Optimus quickly intervened before Jazz could snap. "Now the remaining problem is what to do with the eight younglings currently in Iacon."

"We cannot send them anywhere," Foam spoke up at once. "Not in their current condition. They are finally starting to feel a little safe around us. Relocating them to yet another unfamiliar place will only worsen their trauma."

"Iacon Youth Center has not been in use since the war broke out," Ultra Magnus countered. "We all know that the Well of AllSparks had grown dormant in the very beginning of the war and was only reactivated several vorns ago. It is an absolute mess there. Also, Iacon is in constant danger of attacks and various infiltration attempts. This is not an ideal place to raise sparklings."

The debate went back and forth for a while with no sign of progress. Optimus kept himself carefully neutral, assessing the other commanders' opinions and reasoning. Red Alert and Perceptor were with Magnus, whereas Elita One and Jazz backed up Foam. Ironhide was leaning towards Foam's suggestion, though he kept his opinions mostly to himself and let the debate fold out on its own. Blaster was not sure about either side, while Ratchet was torn between. The CMO was more concerned about the number of eligible, responsible caretakers among the Autobots than anything.

When the hologram of Iacon Youth Center was shown to discuss its usability, both sides gained one more voices with Ratchet declaring the place irredeemable and Ironhide reminding everyone that it does not take an entire slagging complex to accommodate eight slagging younglings. Alpha Trion, who had not spoken a single word during the whole time, backed up Ironhide's statement by pointing out that there was a derelict training range they could use.

"I remember that one!" said Red Alert. "It's on the East wing of the base. I had it closed off because it was massive and posed too much of a security hazard." He sent a panicked look towards Prime. "We can't reopen that!"

Jazz groaned, burying his faceplate in his hands.

It all turned out to be a moot point, however; Blaster had received a message from Rewind that only Crystal City is willing to take more in their Youth Center, since Nova Cronum refused to take any more responsibility and Praxus was full.

"They don't want to spare more militia to protect new sparklings after that attack," Blaster relayed the message. "They're worried about getting retaliated."

"Cowards," Ironhide muttered.

"Does that mean our only other option is Protihex?" asked Perceptor.

"Well, that and Stanix. Rewind tells me they've both contacted to say they have... ah, _'plenty of space'_ available."

"We are _not_ sending those sparklets to Protihex or Stanix," Jazz said firmly. "We send them there now, we might as well be handing them over directly to the Decepticons. We'll see them again within two vorns, on the other side of the field acting as a cannon fodder."

Foam shuddered at the thought.

Optimus vented deeply, at war with himself. Taking in the younglings would automatically make them Autobots. While they _could_ use some extra warriors, he was worried if any of those innocent minds would later resent being robbed of their choice of faction. What if one of them wanted to stay Neutral, or preferred the Decepticon ideals? Should they not be given a chance to choose as well? On the other hand, not taking them in would jeopardize the very lives of the bots he was trying to protect.

"We should take them in, Optimus."

He looked up to meet Elita One's bright, passionate optics.

"Nothing can have more value than those young lives," she continued. "We can give them a chance to leave peacefully if they so wish to. Hoist and Grapple would gladly renovate that old training range into something that can accommodate eight younglings. I can spare some bots from my division for their protection and educations. There are also bound to be those who are unable in the field but would like to be of service. Eight younglings are nothing we cannot raise in Iacon."

"Do we even have a choice anymore?" Ratchet asked sarcastically.

The femme commander smiled. "Not really."

"Fragging brilliant."

"Very well, then," Optimus said, having made up his mind. "Perceptor, tell Hoist and Grapple to start planning for the renovation. Should they require any help in supplies and such, send me the report and we will see what we can do. Elita, see if you can track down some of our old-timers. Kup, for instance."

"On it."

"This will mean a massive change in my security network!" Red Alert was practically whining.

"My division will help protecting those younglings in the meantime, so do not worry about their safety," Elita One said, smiling sweetly.

"That concludes this meeting," Optimus announced, standing up. He beckoned to two of his lieutenants. "Jazz, Ultra Magnus—if you will, please." He moved towards the Communication terminal at a corner while the others left.

Jazz sighed as he rounded the table to the Autobot leader. "If this is about Burst–"

"No," Prime said. "You have my full trust on that account. This is about something else."

Once Magnus join them, he started. "In our last exchange, you all saw that Megatron had made it clear he will be sure to know whether the three younglings we supposedly have are transported to a Neutral city-state or not."

"Oh, _that._ "

"I fear if he finds out that we intend to protect these sparklings in Iacon, the consequences would be less than pleasant."

"If Megatron intends to attack Iacon for that reason, we will be ready for it," said Ultra Magnus.

"I really hope it doesn't come to that yet," Jazz said lightly. "He probably won't attack just because of that, though. It makes the 'cons look bad and lose potential allies. He still wants to get Praxus, and he wants it intact like he did Tarn."

"There is no guarantee, though. Since when has Megatron cared about what others thought of him?"

"No," the saboteur agreed with a sigh. "That's just what I think. There's no telling what's going on in that deranged processor of his."

Optimus pondered for a moment, replaying the exchange in his memory files. He glanced at the saboteur. "What are the chances that there is a spy among our ranks?"

Jazz gave the question a little thought before answering. "If there was a spy in Iacon Headquarters, Megs would have waited 'till he got the right number before calling you. It's not really a secret among us that we have more than three sparklings."

"Then you think he intends to find out solely through Soundwave?"

The saboteur shrugged. "That's what a spymaster is for, ain't it? If we ever manage to kill Soundwave, we'd win the war in a vorn. And half of the credit will go to Starscream."

Since they were yet to come up with a plan to take out Megatron's most loyal lieutenant, they needed to come up with a plan to keep the younglings' presence inside Iacon hidden from the outside for a while.

"What do you suggest, sir?" asked Ultra Magnus.

For an astrosecond, Optimus wondered if this strict mech would agree to his idea when he himself was slightly uncomfortable. "We need to at least appear to be making good of our promise. If not to the Decepticons, then to the other Neutrals. We must avoid giving the Decepticons any excuse that could even remotely be valid."

Jazz grinned wickedly, seeing where this was going at once. "Elita One is a bad influence on you, Optimus."

The Autobot leader just rolled his optics, resisting the urge to say Elita was not the one with bad influence. "A convoy," he continued instead, "escorting three younglings towards one of the Neutral city-states."

"And you need the Wreckers to guard it during the journey in case someone attacked," Magnus said, catching on as well.

Optimus nodded.

"A convoy with younglings except _without_ the younglings," Jazz said. "I like it. And we should make sure there are some 'con witnesses somehow or it'd all be for nothing."

"How are we to achieve that?" Magnus asked. "Once they see the convoy, one scan for spark signatures is all it takes to realise there are no hidden younglings."

"That is one of our problems," Prime said, glancing at his Head of Special Operations hopefully.

Jazz frowned, already thinking up dozens of ideas. "We'll come up with something," he said airily. "I just need to talk about it with a few of my mechs. I'll have the solution on your desk by... tomorrow evening. The real problem is where to 'send' it, since we would obviously need the cooperation of the target Neutral city-state. Praxus is an ideal place, since the bots there are strong willed, but it would be suspicious to send younglings to an already full Youth Center."

"Praxus is too far. We will have to gain the cooperation of Crystal City," Magnus suggested. "One of my fellow Elite Guards is hailed from there. I should be able to convince him to help."

This coming from Magnus was rather unexpected, but Optimus took the offer without question. "Good," he said. "It goes without saying that this operation should remain classified."

"That's a given."

"Of course."

After exchanging quick salutes to each other, the trio dispersed into different directions. Optimus headed down to the Medical Center, Magnus went out to track down that friend of his, and Jazz made a beeline for his quarters, intent on catching up some recharge.


	3. Failed Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up; there is a mention of two Autobots who share the same name as two of the Rescue Bots. He, like everyone else here who doesn't show up in TFP, is based on G1 version of the character. They share the same name but radically different personalities. I have nothing against Rescue Bots, I just need that version of the character to fit my headcanon continuity. (Also in one case, I wrote this before he showed up in the show. :q)

There were so many bots bustling around on the other side of the room. And it looked _fun._

Standing on the tip of his pedes, Bumblebee peered through the gap on the fence that confined him and the other younglings to one corner of the training range. He did not know what those bigger bots were doing, but he knew they had many fancy things and he wanted to join in. For the fifth time that cycle alone, Bumblebee hopped up, grabbing onto the top of the fence and tried to climb over it. For the fifth time, his pedes failed to find any purchase on the smooth white surface and the sparkling fell back down on his tailpipes.

He looked back at the three adult bots warily, but they were all too occupied to pay attention to him at the moment. The big scary-looking mech was focused on painting Streetwise, while Foam and another Caretaker were overseeing the process. Two of Streetwise's brothers were huddled close together to give him moral support, while the other two were still trying to decide which colour scheme they wanted.

Being the first to go through that process, Bumblebee's own yellow and black paint had long since dried up as well as the protective outer coating. The youngest bot had no intention of joining the others' paint-watching party when waiting for his own paint to dry had been boring enough. So, he turned back to give that pesky fence a challenging look instead.

The fence, despite being just a fence, did not look particularly impressed at the tiny bot's glare. Feeling a just little insulted, the yellow sparkling made a frustrated sound. He took a step back and craned his neck to look over the barrier separating him from fun.

At the far end of the room, one of the adults suddenly popped up into his line of sight above the fence. Bumblebee twisted his head to a side as he watched the rust-coloured bot seemingly float around, trying to attach something to the ceiling. He moved forwards, once again squinting through the gap he had been using before to get a better look at the grand secret of flight.

Ah. So the rust-coloured bot was not 'flying', but rather someone else holding him up from below. Bumblebee drew back from the fence, struck with an idea. He looked around at the others to see who he might be able to convince to help.

Streetwise's painting was finished and he was standing on a side, reflecting himself on the mirror set up next to them. It was Blades' turn for a paint, and he was complaining loudly about the shading of the colours. The scary looking mech did not seem at all pleased at the complaints and was slowly developing an even scarier look on his faceplate, putting the other two adult bots on edge. On another side of the corner, Blurr was talking non-stop with a mixture of words and nonsensical clicks to an ever-patient Kup. Next to the pair was Tincross, whose abnormally big frame was curled up into recharge. Bumblebee's large optics darted between the two parties, until they found the perfect solution sitting innocuously in the middle.

The yellow and black went to the lob ball that was almost the same size as he was and patted on it happily. This would do.

He started rolling the ball towards the fence and had nearly reached his destination when there was a loud clatter as something heavy fell on the other side. Everyone in the training range jumped in surprise and turned towards the source of the commotion. Only Bumblebee, who was trying to clamber up the big ball, did not so much as flinch at the noise. He would get to see once he was on top.

The bot in charge of the younglings' paint jobs stood up and took out his pent up annoyance at those responsible for the accident.

"Will you keep it down? This is an extremely delicate work I'm trying to do here!"

"Yeah," one of them responded loudly. "As if we're not doing any of these heavy lifting and tough work, you arrogant piece of—"

"Dogfight!" Kup roared, covering Blurr's audials. "Watch your vocalizer!"

Neither Dogfight nor the scary looking mech appeared to have heard the old bot and continued to sprout off colourful words that none of the younglings could understand. Some of the onlookers attempted to quell the argument, which only served to further escalate the noise level. The younglings for their part, were very much entertained by the whole debacle, which was not helped by the rust-coloured bot blundering with his tools and falling off his partner in the back.

Bumblebee made full use of the distraction, and was able to climb up on top of the ball without drawing any attention to himself. Then he wasted no time climbing over the fence and dropped down on the other side, landing neatly on his pedes with a light 'tap'. Easy.

Now that he was finally free to explore the room proper, Bumblebee's optics were immediately drawn to a massive door that he had not been able to see through the gap before. The door was stuck, and it was _open._

There was only one thing to do. He folded into the alt-form he had learned to assume a couple orns ago and drove straight towards the wide open door. If the noise level had not been so high, anyone would have been able to hear the small sparkling clicking in anticipation and excitement. As it stood, no one realised that suddenly there were only seven younglings instead of eight inside the training range.

———§———

Outside was a completely new world compared to the dull, dusty training range. Bumblebee transformed back to bi-pedal mode and trotted on, taking in his surroundings as he went. Everywhere he saw there were bots with different frame types, all chattering among themselves or walking brusquely. They were all too busy to notice the small sparkling with vibrant yellow painting wandering on his own in the corridors.

Bumblebee paused on his tracks, pondering for a moment on where to go. He had been so focused on just getting out that he never thought about what to do afterwards. Around him, mechs of various colour schemes passed by.

Blue. Red. Black. Brown. White...

White.

White and red.

Hatchet.

That's right, he could go see Hatchet! He had not seen that white bot for a long time. In fact, now that Bumblebee thought of it, he did not think he had seen Hatchet ever since the first time they met. He resumed his tracks, his processor whirring to figure out why that was. Was Hatchet hurt? Or perhaps he was just unable to find the training range? Oh well, Bumblebee shrugged, quickening his pace. He would find out soon enough.

To Hatchet it is, then.

He continued walking for another breem, sticking close to the wall to avoid getting tripped over. Just as he rounded yet another corner, a strange sight greeted him. Everyone in the hallway had flattened themselves against either side of the walls. As soon as Bumblebee followed the others example with a curious beep, the ground started to rumble ominously and he peered around.

Up ahead, five of the largest bots he had ever seen in his life were racing down the hall.

"Clear the path!" someone yelled above, causing Bumblebee to jump backwards in surprise. He toppled into an open crate that was just behind him and was subsequently buried amidst white cleaning cloths and berth sheets. Dazed, he watched as the hulking bots thundered by.

"Stupid team with stupid name," a gruff voice grumbled from outside.

"I dunno why Prime tolerates them," another voice answered. "They are a set of ticking time bombs ready to blow up at any astrosecond."

"It's still better that they're with us rather than the 'cons. Can you imagine what it'd be like if we had to fight them in the field?"

"What's the difference? We already fight them in _here_ often enough."

Bumblebee made a muffled yelp when the crate was suddenly lifted and started moving before he could climb back out. He poked his head out of the sheets to see what was going on.

Whoever it was carrying the crate did not seem to mind the fact that its load had suddenly gained an extra weight. Bumblebee tapped on what he perceived to be the arm. The only response he got was a soft clicking sound.

Strange. No adult bots talked like that.

Before he could figure out the mystery, they took a turn and eventually entered a more secluded area where other drones of various functions were milling around. They acknowledged each other with electronic bursts as they passed by. Bumblebee, not wanting to be rude, tried to mimic those clicks as best as he could and was rewarded by friendly responding bleeps.

The drone carrying him glided up a narrow catwalk that was for drone-use only and moved along it without a hitch. From inside his crate, Bumblebee could look down below and see through the holes in the catwalk where everyone else was running about. Pure excitement surged in his spark when he realised that _they_ could not see him. Not unless they looked very carefully, which no one ever did.

Feeling that he had sufficiently rested inside the crate, the yellow and black gave his carrier a grateful pat and tumbled out. The drone stopped and scanned its vicinity to check if it had dropped something, but Bumblebee was already out of range.

He strolled along the maze of drone passageways aimlessly, often climbing up and down the slopes. Once in a while his path would take him through dark tunnels where they passed through walls and a few rooms. Whenever he could Bumblebee continued his search for a certain white bot. He did not notice that he was gradually taking more downwards turn than upwards.

After some unknown time of walking and driving, he reached a dead end of a particularly long tunnel. The sparkling made an irritated click. Well, this was inconvenient. Now he would have to retrace his steps all the way back to the last intersection. He glared at the troublesome wall the same way he glared at that fence back in the training range.

The wall reacted about the same way as that fence, only this time it actually had an optic to stare back.

Wait, that wasn't right.

A small frown pulled on the tiny faceplate as Bumblebee examined the wall more carefully. Why would a wall have an optic?

He clicked questioningly, reaching up to touch the red light. As if as an answer, the light flickered once and the wall suddenly opened up, revealing another hidden room behind. Excited to have found another secret, Bumblebee entered without hesitation. As soon as he was through the wall closed off on its own, trapping him inside, and the 'room' started moving downwards.

Bumblebee was _not_ scared. No, really. He was just-startled, that was all, and the whimper coming from his vocalizer was of _surprise_ , not fear. He backed against the wall uneasily, then transformed and waited for the room to stop. He had outran scary things before, and he could do it again. He was _fine_.

The room finally stopped moving, and the door opened again.

It was dark, and in the dark stood a large can-like figure with numerous spindly apparatus sprouting off its sides and a single blue band for an optic.

With a loud screech, Bumblebee bolted out, knocking off the drone aside as he went. In his panic, he did not hear the drone go _'wheeee'_ as it reeled around on the spot. Neither did he see the exit hatch growing bigger and bigger until he collided into it headlong, knocking out the hinges that were already rusty due to lack of maintenance. The sparkling rolled on the floor at least three times before finally stopping as bi-pedal. His front bumper hurt, but thanks to some armour upgrades he had received before, the damage was not as bad. His new paint was all scratched up however.

He was in the process of rubbing the scratched paint as if that would somehow help, when a distant movement caught his optics. Not yet having overcome his panic, Bumblebee quickly scampered into the first hiding place he could find.

 _"...missile-proof forcefield, EM shielding and an option to block scans,"_ someone was saying. _"So what do they need this beauty for?"_

_"Eh, you know how them Spec Ops are like. They won't tell even me much either apart from what kinds of scrap they need. I don't even know what half of those devices are for."_

_"Ah, well. 'S long as they bring it back in one piece, I'm fine with it. C'mon, let's get it up to them."_

They continued to speak in words that were difficult to understand. What Bumblebee did know on the other hand, was that his hiding place, whatever it was, was very warm. Snuggling up behind one of the complicated-looking devices, he exhaled in content and quietly fell into light recharge.

———§———

Foam was beside herself with worry. She endlessly berated herself for not keeping a better optic at the sparkling who was far too inquisitive for his own good and had too much energy to burn.

"...honestly no idea how Bumblebee could have— he's the smallest of them. I set up the fence twice as high and only Tincross might have had any chance but..."

 _That's because you didn't see him out there,_ Jazz thought to himself, watching the medic pace around the security room through the corner of his optics. Outwardly he kept his attention on the monitors as Inferno scourged through the recorded footage from all the security cameras surrounding their makeshift Youth Center.

"There he is," Inferno said, pausing one of the recordings and zooming in on the yellow speck just next to a delivery drone. "I think I missed him because Grimlock's team was wreaking havoc all over the place at the time. Like that."

He unpaused the footage.

Foam made a whimpering sound when the entire team of Lightning Strike Coalition thundered by just next to the tiny yellow speck. "Those irresponsible... they could have crushed him!" she squeaked.

Her pitch went several octaves up when the Coalition had passed and Bumblebee was no longer in sight "Where did he go? Is he swept away with them? Oh, Primus, what has happened to him!"

"No, look carefully," Inferno said, reversing the footage with practiced ease. "He fell into that crate right there. See? That drone picked him up. I think... I think it's the one with medical supplies."

"And can you just imagine Ratch's faceplate if he found out that his requested supplies had an extra surprise?" Jazz drawled.

Inferno chuckled lightly while Foam looked aghast.

"This is no laughing matter, Jazz!" she cried. "I am going to call Ratchet right now."

"It ain't gonna be that easy, Foam," Jazz replied, nodding at the screen. "Look at the time stamp. That drone would have made it to the Medical Center at least two cycles ago. Ratchet would have commed you by now if he found Bee inside his supplies."

Foam made a strange, strangled noise as it dawned on her that the lost sparkling could be quite literally anywhere in the base. Jazz vented, feeling pity for her. He really did not envy the femme for taking charge of all those younglings. Playing with them for an orn was one thing, taking full responsibility for their well-being until they upgraded to adult frames was another story. Although Foam was a capable bot in her function and would have been fine anywhere else, the fact was that they were in an Autobot base in the middle of war. Jazz would be very impressed if Foam saw through this task without getting severely traumatized in some way.

A comm call from Mirage informed Jazz that they were almost ready to leave and that his presence was needed. The Head of Spec Ops sent back a reply and then sent another message to another bot in his division who was not taking part in their mission.

"Anyway, I gotta go now," he told the others in the security room. He patted Foam's shoulder, who might as well be tearing her helmet off the way she was clutching it. "Don't worry, Foam. I've called Nightbeat. He'll be here any breem and find little Bee in no time."

"Good luck, Jazz!" Inferno called after him.

Jazz waved back jauntily before transforming and raced off to the courtyard where his team was waiting.

"Took you long enough," Mirage commented upon seeing the sleek, silver alt-form that reverted back to his commander.

"Sorry, I got held up back at the security room," Jazz said, giving the trailer they would be 'escorting' a measuring look. "No 'cons were detected anywhere within a thousand klick from our walls, though that hardly means anything if we're dealing with one of Soundwave's. What about here? Are we good to go?"

"Tip-off was just activating the beacons. Ratchet and Prime are on their way with the Wreckers for a final check-up on everything."

"And all three beacons are activated!" Tip-off announced, hopping out of the trailer. He rubbed his dim optics as he spoke. "The signals will stabilize on their own within a few breems."

"And the dampeners?"

"All set."

"Good."

"Dampeners? Isn't that a bit of an overkill?" one of the bots asked Jazz in a low voice. "We already have two high-ranking officers on this fraud."

"If we're gonna make a show, better make it a good one," Jazz said. "Besides, the dampeners are more for our return journey than anything. Our surveillance may not have found anything, but we can't be sure about Crystal City's security."

It was, after all, what they were banking on for the mission's success. Jazz did not like the thought of deliberately walking into a potential ambush, but there was no helping it this time.

"Isn't there a hidden sub-route we could use?"

"That's for emergency use only."

He took one of the signal dampeners Tip-off offered and attached it under his chest armor. The goal was to make it harder to determine the exact number just by scanning from a distance. The false signals from the beacons would cause an illusion of someone being inside, but the dampeners will cause the signals to appear as a single, blurred out line. Hopefully the 'cons who were watching would refrain from attacking, and if one of them came too close... well, Mirage was not one of the best sharpshooters in Iacon for nothing. Jazz gave a testing scan on the trailer, and found that the readings were a little high.

"Tip-off!" he called. "Are you sure you got the right settings? The signals are a bit stronger than I thought."

"That's because the beacons are yet to adjust with each other's' resonance," Tip-off answered. "They will return to normal in time."

"Huh."

Jazz was getting an uneasy feeling that he was missing something here, but he decided to wait until Ratchet comes. At least Tip-off was not as prone to explosions as some other engineers.

———§———

A strange, uncomfortable feeling in his spark chamber caused Bumblebee to wake up. The strange device he had taken refuge behind was now humming softly, emitting a faint blue glow on the top. There were two more such devices, all interlinked in a tangled mess of cables and wires. Bumblebee revved his engines, trying to throw off the constricting sensation but the feeling just kept getting worse.

He looked down at his chassis. Was it because of that hit he took back there?

There were voices coming from outside.

_"What's taking them so long? We'll never make it back until tomorrow at this rate!"_

_"Relax. Even after the final check-up, we still need to wait for the all-clear from Crystal City outpost to roll out. What's the big hurry anyway?"_

_"He's got a date tomorrow, that's why."_

Bumblebee cocked his head at the third voice. He knew that voice. Where he heard it, however, he could not remember. Fog was filling in his processor, making him feel drowsy again despite the recharge.

 _"I'm not!"_ the first voice exclaimed, while several voices went _'ooh'_.

 _"Now, now, that's nothing to be ashamed of, 'Gate,"_ the familiar voice continued to tease. _"We all gotta find at least something bright in this pit-forsaken war."_

They laughed. Bumblebee crawled out from behind the device, but it was too dark to see where he was supposed to go. He tried to focus.

_"Yeah, you would know wouldn't you? How is Praxus these orns?"_

_"Too much acid rain. If you're looking for a vacation spot, try Kaon."_

_"Jazz,"_ a fourth voice cut through the second bout of laughter in clipped tones. _"Jazz, I'm reading four signals here."_

Jazz. Yes, he had definitely heard that designation somewhere. It was important, but he still could not pinpoint when or where. Everything was a hazy mist right now.

 _"What?"_ the familiar voice replied, turning sharp at once. There was a short pause before he spoke again. _"Fraggit, you're right. Tip-off, did you put in another beacon?"_

_"No, only three. I don't know why there would be four..."_

_"Stand back."_

_"Uh, Mirage?"_ the second voice said nervously. _"I don't think you should—"_

The door opened and bright light burst into the trailer. Bumblebee flickered his optics, staring blindingly at the sudden light. Once his optics adjusted to the change, he could make out a lean figure peering at him. Surprise shot through the blue and white mech's faceplate before it was replaced by a tilted smirk.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he said softly, reaching inside to pick up the sparkling. All the constricting feeling and the haziness evaporated as Bumblebee moved away from the humming devices. He shook his head lightly to get rid of any remaining fogginess.

Outside, Mirage lifted the small yellow bundle and asked. "Alright, who let _this_ beacon inside?"

Five, blank gazes met Bumblebee, but Bumblebee only had optics for the nearest bot. He made a trilling sound and waved his arms, overjoyed to see a familiar faceplate at last for the first time in cycles. It was not exactly who he was looking for, but he was still very glad.

Jazz's reaction could be summed up by three words and a name.

"What the frag? Bumblebee!"

Visor bleaching from blue to white, he hurried forwards to take Bumblebee in his arms and examine the sparkling before spinning around to glare furiously at Tip-off.

"Why the pit is there a _real_ sparkling inside?" the Ops commander hissed.

Tip-off's normally dim optics went completely white for the first time in centuries. He failed to find complete words.

"Wha— I don... how..."

"Don't you know what could have happened if he was left in there for another breem? There's a reason why we had to put in no less than _six_ dampeners in there, for Primus' sake!"

"Well, we'd have finally managed to make Foam pull a Ratchet on us," someone else replied dryly. "Which, by itself is a remarkable achievement, but not what I'd like to die for."

Tip-off finally found his voice.

"I swear, there was nobody inside when I first picked up the trailer from the underground bunker!" he cried. "I don't know when he could have gotten inside!"

Jazz opened his mouthplates, but stopped himself from saying whatever it was that he was about to say. He could hear the others coming and knew exactly how Bumblebee being here would look like to the other commanders.

Being in no mood to get into another row with Ultra Magnus right now, Jazz took a few steps to the opposite direction. He pulled the yellow bot closer to his chassis, worried at how quiet and still Bumblebee was.

"Ratchet is coming," he said. "Mirage, can I count on you to cover up for me while I get this sparklet back to Foam?"

"All in the right price."

Jazz snorted. "Fine, take whatever you want. I'll be right back."

With that he immediately took off running back to the East Wing, comming the femme medic on his way. Bumblebee remained silent for the most part, but soon started squirming again. Jazz was forced to readjust his grip several times to keep the sparkling from falling off.

He skidded to a halt upon seeing Foam sprinting towards them in an equal speed.

"Bumblebee!" Foam cried out, taking the sparkling—who now had a very displeased look on his faceplate—away from Jazz. She scanned the little yellow frame thoroughly, fretting over every single scratches and dents.

Bumblebee vented in such a dramatic way that was almost comical for a sparkling. To Foam, it was a sound of relief after going through a terrifying ordeal, but to Jazz it sounded as if the youngling was just exasperated at the medic's excessive fretting. The saboteur wisely kept that opinion to himself. He was slowly backing away to return to his team when Foam spoke to him.

"Thank you, Jazz. I can't say how relieved I am that you found him before leaving on your mission."

"Don't mention it," Jazz said. "None of us would want anything to happen to those sparklets."

"But, but where did you find him? Your agent just went off on his own and never called back."

Much to Foam's chagrin, Jazz started to laugh, though even he could not tell if it was genuine amusement or a shaky laugh.

"He must have known I would find Bee soon enough," Jazz wheezed, shaking his head. "And Foam, this is for your sake. You _honestly_ do not want to know where he was found, trust the saboteur on this. I don't want to call Ratchet because you had a spark failure."

Still chuckling, Jazz transformed and sped back to the gate, leaving Foam with an utterly horrified look.

Unbeknownst to the bot holding him, Bumblebee pulled a face, disappointed that now he had to go back to that boring training range. It wasn't a complete failure though. Now that he knew how to get out of that fence and all about those catwalks, he felt certain that the next time he would be more successful in this secret mission.

Next time, he would find Hatchet.


	4. Hope Spot

While Bumblebee was having his little adventure, Ratchet was not having a very good orn. If Ratchet was being honest with himself, the first half of the orn was not really so bad. He was finally able to discharge Burst from the ICU so the mech could complete his recovery in the privacy of his own quarters, which made both Autobots happy. There were reports of some minor accidents here and there, thanks to a certain five-mech-team, but nothing more than a few dents and some tantrums over scratched paint. Apart from those, which were all routine in their headquarters, everything was going fine and Ratchet deemed it safe enough to take a look at a research he had been doing as a side project.

Then mid-orn past, and apparently the universe felt it should make up to Ratchet for the lack of chaos earlier.

The first hint of trouble was when the berth sheets and disinfected cleaning cloth arrived at his med bay in less than pristine state. The delivery drone was unable to understand Ratchet's demands to know why they were all ruffled up with traces of dust inside the crate. Even if it did understand, it had no way of explaining exactly what happened other than showing up its recent activity log.

Since there was no anomaly in the log that he could find, Ratchet declined to call an engineer for a look at possible defect and just sent the entire thing back to the disinfection chamber. Since he still needed those sheets, he paid a visit to other medical staffs to borrow some. Hopefully the rest of his duty shift would pass by like it did in the morning and he would not be needing them so badly after all.

His hope, as always, was not to be. No sooner had he finished sorting everything in, there was a knock on the door. It was an engineer who, Ratchet guessed, must be one of the recent transfers into Iacon. The engineer gave a jaunty salute with a charred hand that was held on his other hand instead of being attached to his wrist as it should be. Apparently he had miscalculated the blast range of his newly invented proximity bomb and was caught in the experiment.

"Did you even _bother_ to calculate it?" Ratchet asked incredulously.

The mech thought about it for a moment. "Yes, I did. This time," he said.

" _This time_ ," Ratchet muttered under his breath as he jerked his head to beckon the engineer inside. One might imagine that these so-called scientists actually knew what they were doing as opposed to just hitting two volatile substances together and seeing if they exploded or not.

To his credit, Ratchet did try to keep his rants tame for the mech who would not yet be accustomed to his usual bedside manner. The cut was clean enough that reattaching the hand only took a little more than half a cycle. It also helped that the earlier part of the orn passed as peacefully as it could for an Autobot base and Ratchet was in a more forgiving mood. However, by the fourth time the engineer called him 'doc', the good doctor's patience ran out.

"Alright, there you go," Ratchet said, applying medical coolant on the repaired joints more roughly than he probably should.

"You work fast, doc," the engineer commented, flexing his hand and completely oblivious to the medic's not-so-gentle manners.

"I have to, if I want to get even half a cycle worth of recharge around here," Ratchet replied, stamping down his annoyance at that infuriating word. He spun the engineer around by the shoulder and all but threw him out the door. "Now shoo. Get out and stay out. I don't want to see your faceplate in my med bay for another deca-orn. I don't care if you are making a proximity bomb or a Megatron-seeking missile that eats sparks. Just keep out of your _own_ fragging explosions."

Exactly one cycle after kicking out the engineer, Ratchet was called in for a final checkup on a classified mission. When he was given a brief idea on what the mission was about, Ratchet sorely wanted to drag Optimus to a secluded corner of the command center and demand if the mission was really worth the risk involved. Two high-ranking officers out in the open was going to be too good a chance for the Decepticons to just pass. Moreover, they were talking about the Wreckers and Special Operations teaming up. One was a group who proudly admitted to their tendency to act before thinking with no concept of subtlety, the other was a division full of bots possessing unquestionable talents and questionable sanity. Put them together and one gets a wonderful combination that invariably sets the Medical Center on fire—if they were lucky.

Optimus felt the unspoken question and tried to assure his CMO that this should be a relatively safe mission and they were taking all available precautions. Both commanders had given explicit orders to their respective teams to not engage an enemy first. Two transport ships with backup would be hidden close by the designated route in case of an ambush. The trailer that would be taken was also designed to provide some cover and buy enough time for the aforementioned backup to arrive on site.

"Fine then. Let's get this over with," Ratchet groused.

They headed out to where Jazz's team was waiting with the trailer, meeting up with Magnus and three of his Wreckers on the way. What greeted them by the gates were a rather nervous Tip-off and four Ops mechs each with smug grins on their faceplates, making the newcomers feel as if they had missed some inside joke. Such upbeat mood before missions would usually be Jazz's doing, but the saboteur himself was nowhere to be seen.

Mirage's response in regards to his commander's whereabouts was exactly what one might expect from the blue spy.

"Jazz had to return an additional package from the trailer back to where it came from. He will be back in a few astroseconds," he said in a smooth, unassuming tone.

Obviously, this 'additional package' was the source of the inside joke, but nobody gave anything else away. Only Tip-off's optics turned even whiter, but he too kept quiet and busied himself with the door hinges on the trailer. Optimus, whose orn appeared to be deteriorating even faster than Ratchet's, decided against further enquiring about the matter and motioned the medic to simply proceed with the checkup. Whatever the nature of that package was, if it made all the Spec Ops agents gleeful but traumatized Tip-off, anyone outside of the division was better off not knowing.

The checkup itself took no longer than a couple breems, by which time Jazz had returned with the all-clear from Crystal City. The bots on standby were getting edgy by then, so they summarily took formation and headed out through the gates. Ratchet turned to ask Tip-off about his optics, only to find the engineer already hightailing it back to his labs.

"What the pit has gotten into him?" Ratchet wondered.

Optimus frowned slightly as well, but returned to his office without further comment. He had other more pressing matters to address, such as where Grimlock had taken his team and ran off to this time.

Upon returning to his med bay Ratchet was interrupted from his work by; one irate Silverbolt herding two of his very sorry-looking teammates inside, a frazzled Foam asking if there was purging agent for a youngling who mistook blue paint for energon treat, and Cliffjumper being dragged in by his friends after trying to prove that he could, in fact, jump off cliffs.

And then of course, Ratchet's orn would not be complete without at least one of their resident pit-spawns landing themselves on the med bay for no good reason.

Sideswipe poked in his helm and asked if Ratchet was busy.

"I was not, until you came in," Ratchet replied warily. "What do you want?"

The frontliner grinned sheepishly. "Well, you see, Sunny and I—"

"Mech up and get inside you overgrown can of cold slag," Sunstreaker's voice sounded from outside, and the rest of Sideswipe's frame stumbled in as his brother shoved him from behind.

Too his increasing alarm, Ratchet saw that Sideswipe was steaming from his mouth. Worse, his frame temperature was lower than average and was steadily dropping even further.

"Sideswipe!" he exclaimed, standing up at once. "What is wrong with you? Why are you steaming?"

Scanning the red frame up and down, Ratchet's medically oriented processor was already going through a hundred different reasons on why Sideswipe would be acting like a giant red humidifier.

White smoke gushed out of his mouth as the warrior spoke. "Well, Sunny and I were sort of having a bet, and um, I swallowed a bar of solid carbon dioxide by accident."

That... was not one of the hundred different reasons.

Ratchet deadpanned. "What."

"Just what I said," Sideswipe replied slowly and clearly. "I... _accidentally_... swallowed a bar of solid carbon dioxide. On accident."

The medic's expression failed to change as he added a category tagged 'General Stupidity' into the hundred reasons on why a bot would be emitting white steam from his mouth. "And?"

Sideswipe coughed twice. Ratchet could feel the air grow colder and his insides grow hotter.

"Well, I swallowed it, and it got stuck in my fuel pipe right here." The red bot pointed at right below his neck. "It's a bit uncomfortable, so I was wondering if you could, you know, help me get it out?"

If Ratchet wanted to help the frontliner with his predicament, it would be only so he could reformat him into an actual humidifier. Come to think of it, the idea did not sound so bad. From what Ratchet had observed earlier, Prime might just be in the right mood to sign over something like that for once.

A futile wish, but a bot could dream.

"Uh, Ratchet?" Sideswipe called, bringing Ratchet back to reality and earning himself Ratchet's own patented death glare for his troubles.

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?" the medic asked in a dangerous voice.

Sideswipe fingers silently counted down from three. Right on mark, Ratchet exploded.

"Of course it would be stuck, you idiot. If it did make it all the way down to your tank you would not be standing there like you've just been made some slagging Prime, you would be purging all over the slagging place! Do you even know what a solid carbon dioxide is? What it can do to your inner systems? That thing is not called 'dry ice' for nothing! What kind of malfunction had your two-bit processor unit to put an entire bar of that anywhere even close to your mouthplates? What are you, some new-spark fresh out of the Well? Where the pit did you even get a bar of dry ice big enough to get stuck in your pipes in the first place? We barely even fragging use it!"

"From Perceptor, of course," Sideswipe replied promptly. "You wouldn't believe the kinds of things you can get from him as long as you can give a scientific enough reason."

A short silence. Then,

"And what, pray tell, is _scientific_ about swallowing a bar of dry ice?"

"I didn't mean to swallow it," Sideswipe muttered.

Sunstreaker's voice came. "Yes, he did."

"Did not!"

"You're the one who suggested that stupid game."

"You agreed to it!"

"Only to shut you up."

Ratchet felt as if _he_ was steaming, only on the opposite side of the temperature spectrum. Making a mental note to confront Perceptor about the wisdom of giving the twins anything from his labs, he jabbed his finger towards a waste receptacle. "Get over there and bend over."

Sideswipe made a panicked expression. "Just like that? You're not going to give me a purging agent or something?"

"That would only make things worse," Ratchet said, smiling for the first time that orn. "We need to get it out the old fashioned way. And besides, I'm out of purging agent."

It was unbelievably satisfying, being able to thump the red bot's back and still be perfectly justified. Sunstreaker, who had leaped into the room after hearing the first yelp to make sure Ratchet was not genuinely killing his twin, saw what was going on and gleefully asked if he could lend a hand. Ratchet did not exactly remember himself agreeing to it, but he did not bother to raise any objection either when Sunstreaker joined in to hold his brother still.

After several, daunting breems of thumping, some cursing from all three of them, more than enough whining from Sideswipe, which were each responded by a whack in the helm, something white and very cold finally tumbled out and goaled into the waste receptacle. Sideswipe coughed, spitting out all the remnants of carbon dioxide and coughed again when Ratchet shoved some defrosting buffer into his mouthplates.

"Oof, that's disgusting," he complained, making an act of purging.

"If you purge now, I will give you something much more unpleasant," Ratchet snapped. He pointed at the door. "Out. And don't let me catch you doing any more 'experiments' with Perceptor's lab material or I swear to Primus, I will make _you_ into one of his lab equipment."

When his chronometer finally informed the end of his shift with that beautiful chime, Ratchet made a beeline for the commissary. He only stayed long enough to take his rations however, and went straight back to his own quarters before the universe could further implode in on him.

It was barely even dawn when he was awoken by a call from Prime again.

"What is it, Optimus?" he croaked into the comm.

An astrosecond later, Ratchet was racing to the Emergency Room, cursing up a storm.

———§———

Distant light of dawn crept up from the far East of Iacon city-state, eventually reaching the remodeled Youth Center inside Autobot Headquarters. Bumblebee watched as the bright speck of Alpha Centauri first showed itself between the buildings, perched on the windowsill of the training range.

Last orn, as soon as he returned to the range, Foam had put him in a nearly forced recharge despite his protests. Since he already had some just prior to getting arrested, Bumblebee woke up almost two cycles earlier than usual, with his internal diagnostics informing that his energy level had hit something over 200 percent. He was the only one awake in the training range, and had been idly poking around the room ever since, memorizing every little details of the place that had changed. He was getting bored to the point of plotting another escape, only the door was now fixed enough to pose as a new obstacle which he couldn't get around. Yet.

There was a soft rustling behind and Bumblebee turned his attention back. Foam had finally gotten up and was blearily collecting a few datapads from her makeshift desk on a corner. Unaware of the wide-opticked observer, the femme medic quietly made her way towards the door.

Seeing his chance, Bumblebee dropped down from his perch at once. He landed on alt-form and sped across the room, scoring through the door at the same time as Foam did. She yelped as a tiny yellow and black alt-mode swept past her pedes and skidded to a halt. Recognizing the colour scheme, she let out a tired groan.

"Bumblebee, what are you doing up this early in the morning?" she asked, carefully closing the door behind her before any other hyperactive younglings burst through it.

Bumblebee hopped up to bi-pedal mode with excited clicks. He looked left and right, trying to remember which direction he took yesterday, but both sides felt equally different without as many bots bustling around. He turned up his gaze at Foam expectantly.

Foam regarded her datapads for a moment, then back at her youngest charge. Finally she gave up, deciding it would be better to let Bumblebee accompany her for a while, than leaving him to his own devices in the training range and end up causing another chain of disaster. Judging from what happened yesterday, there was no telling what kind of mess she would return to in such scenario.

With Foam's guidance, they soon reached the Medical Center and Bumblebee was instantly glad that he had followed her. The clean white walls, the very busy bots inside, the scent that stung his olfactory sensors in a strange but not entirely unpleasant way... All of it brought back in his memory of the orn when he was first brought in here. The exact details of that orn were now vague as he overwrote it with new things, but the feeling was still there.

Foam, on the other hand, was not so pleased about the place.

"Oh, dear," she murmured.

Bumblebee looked up, clicking curiously. The adult bot smiled sadly down at him.

"Something must have happened during the night," she said.

The yellow and black cocked his head, not really understanding what was wrong. Everything felt the same as the last time he was here. But Foam did not explain any further.

They stopped in the middle of the corridor where another bot was taking a short break against the wall next to a communication terminal.

"What happened?" Foam asked the mech.

"A mission went awry, but I don't know much further than that," he answered.

"Has anyone...?"

"No, no, no. They had hidden backups and everything. I think someone is in the ICU, but it won't be long before everyone makes full recovery. Besides, Ratchet won't let anyone die so easily." The junior medic offered a tired smile.

Bumblebee failed to follow all of the conversation, try as he may have, but he did catch one word. Or at least, he thought he did.

"Hatchet?" he wondered.

The junior medic jumped, noticing the yellow sparkling next to Foam's pede for the first time.

"Uh... it might be better if the little one stays out of here for now. Our dear CMO isn't in his best of moods at the moment and, well, this is hardly a good sight for young optics," he said in a low voice, gesturing vaguely at the end of the corridor.

"I can see that," Foam sighed, casting a glance aside at the sparkling who was listening far too attentively. She lifted the datapads she had brought with her. "I just need to upload these into the Data Net and then we will be going back."

Bumblebee tensed. The adult bots may have lowered their voices, but his audials were sharper than average younglings. They can't be going back already, can they? He was so close now!

"Of course," the junior medic replied. "I'll just, um, get this ready and..."

The rookie fumbled with the controls on the terminal, prompting Foam to gently point out the right way of operating it. Bumblebee watched the two adult bots for a moment, trying to decide if he should use this opportunity to proceed with the secret quest he had set up for himself or stay put like a good little youngling.

That was when he heard a yell from one of the rooms nearby. Bumblebee strained his audials, subconsciously drifting towards the source as he tried to make out the sound. He was almost trampled on when the door to the room slid open to eject two bots with thick armours. They scrambled out of the way, reflexively ducking under a broken device that came flying after them. The device, if it was broken before, shattered on impact against the opposite wall, bits and pieces flying off into different directions. One of the smaller pieces landed right in front of Bumblebee, who picked it up curiously. It fitted just right in his palm.

"I said I'm sorry!" the light green one yelled, checking his back for any scratches. His friend was already halfway down the corridor.

The hollering response from inside was able to send the mech running away on top speed, and yet to Bumblebee's audials it sounded like music.

_"How many times do I have to tell you! You do NOT touch any of MY tools that save YOUR sorry glitched aft—"_

The rest of the tirade was a continuous string of words that didn't sound right to Bumblebee, but he did not dwell on it. Clutching the broken piece like some grotesque trophy, he slipped through the open door into a familiar room in search for the owner of that voice. The yelling subsided once the subject was out of sight, making Bumblebee a little anxious that he might have missed his target.

There!

He sprinted towards the familiar form of white and red. Standing right next to the bot, he waved his free hand with a delighted click to say hello. Unfortunately, the bot was too busy adjusting various apparatus around every occupied berth and cursing to himself to see the tiny yellow sparkling tumbling about by his pedes. Everyone else, on the other hand, did, and in their effort to keep a straight faceplate they were all either unable or unwilling to inform Ratchet about his avid follower. Oblivious to all the attention he was getting except for the one he sought out, Bumblebee followed the medic around, all the way through a door leading to another room.

This new room was smaller than the one they had just left. A large glass tube was stuck to the wall on one corner, filled with liquid that looked like energon but much more translucent and dim. Distracted, Bumblebee padded towards the tube. The liquid inside, while it did not look exactly harmful, gave off an eerie feeling that he didn't like.

He shuddered delicately and moved away, turning back to his original objective. The medic was _still_ busy, this time pouring into a datapad on his desk with dimmed optics. On closer look, Hatchet did not look so well.

Deciding that he had done enough waiting, Bumblebee boldly approached the bot and tapped on the leg.

"Hatchet!"

———§———

Ratchet stared down at the report in front of him. He supposed he should be thankful no one had died. He supposed he should be glad Ironhide was leading the backup squad and had chased off the attackers just by showing up.

Instead, Ratchet only felt tired.

His systems flashed with alerts of numerous unmet needs, none of which Ratchet was not already aware of. He needed to refuel. He needed more recharge. Most of all he needed bots to stop coming back to his med bay half-slagged exactly the same way after—

A voice rang out.

"Hatchet!"

The medic yelped in surprise, nearly dropping the datapads. He spun around furiously to locate the source and froze.

It took a moment for Ratchet to recognize the tiny intruder, who tilted his head to a side and tried again.

"Hatchet?"

Ratchet remained frozen until he realised there was only one bot who would call him that so innocently. "You, you're that..."

The yellow sparkling's faceplate positively glowed despite the belated reaction. He patted his chest and re-introduced himself: "Bumblebee!"

Ratchet stared at his... _unusual_ guest, his overtaxed processor still trying to catch up. The two contrasting colours on Bumblebee's tiny frame made him want to examine the optical relays of whoever chose that particular colour combination and shading.

"Yes, yes, _Bumblebee,_ " Ratchet finally said, shaking his head to get rid of the afterimages. "What are you doing here all alone? More than that, _how_ did you get in here?"

Bumblebee did not care about the question. Nor did he take note that the medic was not as pleased to see him as he was. He skipped closer, holding up something broken in his hand. Ratchet took the offering and recognized it as part of what used to be his arc welder.

"How—"

Before Ratchet could form a proper question, Bumblebee latched on to the medic's left leg, chirring happily. Ratchet drew in a sharp breath, his irritation melting down into nothingness. Primus, he had forgotten how these younglings could be.

His office door opened up again tentatively and a pastel brown helm appeared through the gap.

"Um, Ratchet?" Foam asked in a barely audible voice. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but..."

She gestured helplessly towards the yellow sparkling, who peeled himself off Ratchet's leg.

"Hatchet!" Bumblebee said excitedly, pointing at the white bot in case Foam did not know who he was.

'Hatchet' sighed in relief. "Foam, for Primus' sake, would you please take Bumblebee back to the training range where _it is safe?"_

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course!" the femme medic squeaked. Stepping inside, she held out a hand to her charge. "Come on, Bumblebee. Let's go back. Ratchet is busy."

But Bumblebee obviously had no intention of leaving so soon. He looked up from Foam to Ratchet and, quickly realising what was going on, sprinted away to hide behind the desk. The only thing the other two bots could see was a small yellow helm with a pair of large stubborn optics.

Foam bent down to a crouch to match optic level and tried to coax the sparkling out of his hiding place. "Come on, we have to go back. The others will be online as well by now."

The stubborn look on Bumblebee's faceplate morphed into something else neither adult bots were prepared for.

Now, Ratchet was an old mech. He did not hold his reputation for being one very cranky medic for nothing. He had his fair share of dealing with younglings before the war, and as a medic, he had developed a certain level of resistance to their uncanny abilities in manipulating soft-sparks like the one currently standing next to him. Whining had no effect on Ratchet and there were bots in Iacon who could readily testify that fact.

Perhaps it was because his encounters with younglings greatly diminished since the war began, or perhaps he was just too Primus-damned tired for being woken up so early, but right now even he could not quite maintain his usual stern temper to such spark-breaking look. To make things worse, Bumblebee's optics were big enough that anyone could see how the lenses inside diluted and wavered around in accordance to his mood. Later Ratchet would reflect on this moment and think the orn Bumblebee gained full control of his optics would spell doom for all grumpy old bots in Iacon.

"Just for a cycle? This once?" Foam asked, unable to look away. "He... he obviously has some emotional attachment to you... I mean... you _were_ the one to find him back at the Well."

It was clear to Ratchet that the femme medic was completely sold. She did not have the slightest chance against such potent weapon. Ratchet let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Fine," he huffed. "One cycle."

Only after making sure Foam had completely left did Bumblebee slowly come out from behind the desk.

"It is going to be very boring for you, Bumblebee," Ratchet warned, settling back in his chair with a new set of datapads. Emotional attachments or no, he had work to do and a reputation to maintain. He refused to be distracted from work just because a youngling was being stubborn.

Bumblebee just clicked with a smile which, had it been anyone else, would have put Ratchet on edge.

His concerns turned out to be baseless however. Bumblebee easily occupied himself by exploring the office, demanding very little from Ratchet. In fact, the additional presence helped the medic stay alert, and by the end of the cycle Ratchet had almost finished with the reports. He suddenly became aware that his office was too quiet considering his unusual guest and glanced behind to see if Bumblebee had fallen into recharge.

"By the AllSpark," he muttered at the sight.

Contrary to Ratchet's guess, Bumblebee was very much awake, perhaps even more so than Ratchet himself. A compartment at the bottom of his shelf was wide open. The box inside had tipped over with all its contents spilt out, and Bumblebee was in the middle of it all. The various trinkets he had discovered consisted of old medical equipment and datapads that went back as far as the beginning of the Golden Age, marking the time when Ratchet received his medical license. They were outdated and useless, kept only for sentimental value, before eventually becoming forgotten with time. Now Bumblebee had rediscovered their purpose as his plaything.

At this point, Ratchet had given up all hopes of getting any additional work done. He resorted to simply watching his temporary charge play with the old tools that were long since dulled and become useless. Once or twice, Bumblebee invited Ratchet to join in his games, but of course _that_ was pushing it. The medic only intervened enough to make sure the 'toys' were really harmless and all sufficiently blunted or deactivated.

Foam was half a cycle late in returning to collect Bumblebee. Before Ratchet could even recover his usual ornery attitude, the femme medic apologized frantically for being late, insisting that Ratchet should have commed her earlier if the sparkling interrupted his work too much.

"I was about to do just that," Ratchet replied curtly, not about to admit that he did not mind Bumblebee's presence as much as he had expected.

Having spent some time with his 'Hatchet' now, Bumblebee took the suggestion to go back to the training range much better than he did earlier. He followed Foam to the door with minimum fuss, but then stopped and turned back to face Ratchet.

"Next... time?" he managed to ask after some struggle.

The hesitant question took Ratchet by surprise, but the medic was even more surprised by his own answer.

"Yes, you can visit here again next time," he heard himself say, thinking he must really be tired and in dire need of more recharge.

However, as he watched the bright yellow frame disappear through the door, Ratchet suddenly felt that his office had become a little brighter as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that concludes this little thing that turned out longer than I expected. It was supposed to be a repost to get inspired and yet I ended up editing a lot more than I intended to. :q
> 
> Special thanks to **jisko2jisko** and **DragonessOfNight** for leaving kind comments! Each of them are very much appreciated. ;)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading this far, and I hope you enjoyed the fic!


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